


Age as Fireflies at Dusk

by Adel Mortescryche (Mortescryche)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Absent Characters, Agape and Eros, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Katsuki Yuuri, BAMF Yuuri, Ballet Competent Katsuki Yuuri, Character Study, Confident Yuuri, Families of Choice, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Jossed, M/M, Post Rostelecom Cup, Post-Episode 8(YOI), Slice of Life, Team as Family, The Russian Ice Kitten, Victor Yuuri and their kids Makkachin and Yuri Plisetsky, Well relatively anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortescryche/pseuds/Adel%20Mortescryche
Summary: It's so easy to forget that Yuuri all but grew up learning ballet the way other children learnt to walk or play. He sees no reason to go out of his way prove himself, not when he chose figure skating over dance - but hard work and discipline always show, as they say.(Or, that one in which it's more than obvious to Lilia Baranovskaya that Yuuri is trained in ballet, and Yuuri proves to have more of a backbone than anyone in the Russian contingent except Yuri expected to see. Especially when Victor isn't around to act as a buffer.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by **ScreamHoney** 's fic "How Could You Forget? (Surprise Surprise)", consider checking that work out. Also partially inspired by those meta posts on tumblr discussing why, exactly, Victor picked _Eros_ for Yuuri and _Agape_ for Yurio.
> 
> Also, this is probably going to get jossed come next week, so... Written before Episode 09 came out! be forewarned if you head this way after that!

It’s the morning after the Rostelecom Cup, and Yuuri is _exhausted._ Mentally, physically and emotionally, all at once, to the point that he didn’t even want to set foot outside his hotel room after waking up. Possibly wouldn’t have if he hadn’t woken to the text message from Yurio, saying that Yakov-coach had invited Yuuri to train with them informally at a rink nearby that they frequented. And breakfast after.

Honestly? All Yuuri wanted to do was _sleep._ Finishing the free skate on his own with both Victor and Makkachin on his mind hadn’t been easy. He’d been terrified, and the only reason the anxiety before the programme hadn’t killed him was because he couldn’t help but think that the only thing worse than losing Makkachin for Victor would be seeing Yuuri fail because Victor’d been forced to leave.

And Yuuri couldn’t do that to him. He _couldn’t._

So he’d gritted his teeth, sucked in a breath beforehand, and ignored the hell out of the arch, evaluative stare that Yakov had been directing his way. _Didn’t_ ignore the adorably concerned looks Yurio kept darting at him before he had to go out onto the ice, instead patting him on the back and dodging the punch aimed at his face right after.

Somehow, the mental space he’d found himself in when he finally skated out had been even quieter than his headspace during his programme at the China Cup. Before, there had been the audience, and the Russian commentators no doubt discussing how lonely Yuuri seemed without Victor at his side, the feeling of everything coming down on him. The gaping void of Victor’s absence, and not knowing whether Makkachin was still alive or not.

And then, there was nothing but him. And the ice.

…he somehow managed to beat his best score all over again. It helped that he’d actually managed to nail the quad flip without overrotating or coming down this time around. Apparently Victor’s insistence that he could do it with practice when he’d nearly succeeded impromptu before turned out to be true. Though it _still_ hadn’t been enough to beat JJ; the Canadian had completed a perfect programme yet again to cinch the gold. Though Yuuri _did_ beat back the other competition and took the silver with a strong lead.

Even knowing that he’d managed to qualify for the Grand Prix yet again didn’t compare to hearing Victor’s tired, teary and relieved voice over the phone, though, calling to share the news that Makkachin had made it.

So, yes. He was exhausted. And couldn’t wait to get on the flight that would take him back home to Victor, Makkachin and his family.

But… for all that Yakov had seemed so harshly judgemental before Yuuri had gone out on the ice, he’d been gruffly appreciative and supportive in the aftermath, not even a trace of distaste or derision in him when he met Yuuri after he completed his free skate. If anything, the older man had looked strangely delighted, going as far as to enfold him in a crushing hug that made Yuuri _squeak -_ much to Yurio’s vindictive amusement. And had dutifully followed him to the kiss and cry afterward, just like he’d promised Victor he would.

So when Yurio’s text had come through, Yuuri had wanted to cry at the unfairness of the world. Just a bit. But he’d forced himself out of bed just the same, because it wasn’t right to blow off someone who’d supported him no matter _how_ passive-aggressively. Certainly not someone who was Victor’s old coach, and seemed to be only real father figure Victor had ever had. Definitely the only one Victor had ever mentioned, on long lonely nights in Hasetsu, well after the rest of the inn was already fast asleep.

At least now he knew why Victor had always sounded so exasperated when he mentioned him. And fond at the same time.

*

Even all of that put together isn’t enough to prepare him to deal with meeting Lilia Baranovskaya when he finally arrives at the rink, though, standing on the sidelines and watching Yuri skate with a severe expression on her face.

He’d met her in passing after his free skate, of course. Especially since he stayed by the rink to watch Yurio skate and cheer him on. But he’d maintained his distance, to give both her and Yakov room to talk to Yurio, no matter how much he wanted to go closer and just give the poor boy a hug. It was definitely his extended exposure to Victor’s tendency to smother people in affection, but watching Yuri standing on the other side of the barrier around the rink, looking small and terrified no matter how hard he tried to look menacing, had hurt. He _did_ indulge in the urge to spring a hug on Yurio after the programme was done, though. He’d been too proud to stop himself.

Yurio was only fifteen, still tiny and rough in the edges, but he’d somehow managed to beat everyone else at Rostelecom to net the bronze medal. It hadn’t been enough to grant him a place at the Grand Prix, but it was an amazing debut for his first year in the senior league. Even if _he_ didn’t seem to think so.

“Madam,” Yuuri murmured in an undertone, coming to a stop beside the Prima. It earned him a surprised look from Yakov, but Madam Baranovskaya only gave him a curious glance.

“You. You are trained in ballet.” She said, her voice rough with a heavy accent overlaying the English words. Not nearly as fluid as Victor, but Yuuri suspected that was out of personal preference, not unfamiliarity with the language. And, anyway, Yuuri had been hearing the accent for enough time day after day that he didn’t have any trouble understanding.

The words _did_ bring a surprised flush to his cheeks though. He hadn’t realised that the prima had watched him skate. An oversight – of _course_ she would watch the programme of someone her student viewed as a rival. To get a better understanding of her _student,_ if nothing else.

She hummed thoughtfully, taking his silence for acquiescence, and easily ignoring the way her ex-husband squawked on her other side.

“How many years? Under whom did you train? Where?” she asked, her tone no-nonsense.

They just made Yuuri go even redder than before, especially since the combination of the look on his face and Yakov’s loud voice had managed to attract the attention of the other Russian skaters who’d come along with Yakov, Lilia Baranovskaya and Yurio to Moscow.

“O-over a decade, madam. My childhood friend was the one who convinced me to learn ice skating, but I started with ballet under Okukawa Minako when I was still a toddler. She was the one who told me to seriously consider figure skating as a career.”

Baranovskaya’s brows rose in clear appreciation, while Yakov had devolved into a hoarse, choking sound that seemed to be his way of conveying shock.

“I remember her, from the _Benois de la Danse._ Stunning technique, and such grace!”

The words had Yuuri erupt with surprised laughter, because Minako was going to be absolutely thrilled when she found out that _Lilia Baranovskaya_ actually recognized her by name. Or, more importantly, that Lilia Baranovskaya _remembered her well enough to comment on her technique._

“I’ll be sure to let her know, madam. She’s a big fan of your work. Actually, I-” he had to break off there, going red all over again when he noticed how Yurio was rapidly skating in their direction, closely followed by a few others.

“What the fuck, piggy?” Yurio demanded, once he was close enough to yell with maximum effect. Yuuri winced, getting a hand up so he could stick a finger in his ear and shake it out, with some hope that _that_ would stop the ringing. No such luck.

“We were just talking, Yurio. The madam-”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT! And what the hell, why the fuck’re you talking to the old hag, of all people?” he spat, and Yuuri… went still.

He distantly heard Yakov yell at the Russian Punk for the language, and the words, but the madam directed a sharp look at the teen. Apparently the look kept Yurio in better check than his coach’s yelling, since he immediately looked wary. Or, at least, he did until he locked eyes with Yuuri. After that? He just looked scared. Well, incensed and scared. But mostly scared. Or maybe that was just Yuuri, who could recognise the emotion in the way Yuri stiffened, similar to the way he had the one time Yuuri’s mother chastened him for his bad behaviour at the inn.

Ah. Yuuko always _did_ say he looked like his mother when he was angry. Or disappointed.

“Yura?” the tall, red headed girl was asking from beside him, sounding worried. Babicheva, if he wasn’t wrong. Another one of Victor’s old, ridiculously talented rink mates.

“Apologise.”

It took Yuuri a moment to consciously recognise the voice that had said it was his own.

Predictably, Yurio exploded _again,_ lashing out to catch Yuuri by the collar, but Yuuri ignored the reaction, instead wrapping his fingers around the teen’s slim (fragile) wrist and staring down at him till he stopped yelling. And he did. He was still quivering in fury, but he _did_ finally fall silent.

“Apologise.” Yuuri repeated again, mild, but there was unbending steel hidden in the softness of his tone. It made Yurio grit his teeth, looking for a moment like he was going to lash out again, but Yuuri tightened his grip ever so slightly, warning him wordlessly that that wouldn’t be the best thing to do.

Yurio looked like he wouldn’t love anything more than to knee Yuuri in the gut, but he subsided with an angry sigh, ducking his head sullenly in clear apology. Yuuri loosened his hold immediately, and reached out ruffle the younger boy’s hair, smiling when he predictably flared up again.

It took Yuuri a few seconds to realise that nearly everyone in their vicinity was staring at him in varying levels of shock. Babicheva in particular seemed like she was going to start squealing at any moment.

“чёрт! And here I thought he was just Vitya’s gentle Japanese boytoy.” She said with a wide grin.

Yuuri _had_ to hold onto the barrier for dear life, after that. Because, while she’d sworn in Russian, the rest had clearly been in English for his benefit. There was only so much social embarrassment he could take. Yurio, thankfully, gave a rude snort and turned to yell at her, taking some of the attention off of Yuuri with that.

The dear boy was adorable. Like a kitten. A badly behaved one, agreed, but he could be so sweet sometimes.

“That was unnecessary,” the madam murmured beside him, low enough that even her ex-husband probably didn’t hear it.

Yuuri sighed, and lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No, it was very necessary. He’s still angry that he didn’t get a spot at the Grand Prix.” He replied, voice soft, careful to speak at a volume that Yurio wouldn’t hear him in. Even if he _was_ very well distracted, involved as he was in chasing Babicheva around the rink while roaring at the top of his lungs. It sadly wasn’t soft enough to escape _Yakov’s_ attention, though.

“He has every right to be angry,” He said, surprisingly willing to continue the conversation at a softer pitch. “Yuri was perfection itself.”

“He flubbed some of his jumps. And he was so focused on getting his ballet technique right that it messed with his skating. He still skated a very good programme, easily among the best his age, but that doesn’t mean he should yell at the prima who condescended to train him just because he’s angry he didn’t do as well as he thought he should.” Yuuri replied, voice sharp. The words earned him another surprised look from Yakov, nearly bug-eyed, but Lilia Baranovskaya managed to surprise _Yuuri_ with a laugh, very obviously entertained.

“You are jealous!”

Yuuri blinked, at that, and his expression turned just the slightest bit petulant.

“Madam, he got the opportunity to train with one of the best ballet dancers in the world, and he’s still sulking. I have absolutely no idea why, there’s no way he could have gained enough proficiency with ballet in six months to skate the programme you choreographed for him with absolute perfection.”

His words had Yakov sputtering, but Baranovskaya still hadn’t lost that entertained smile. Clearly she agreed with him. Yuuri shook his head roughly, and turned back to the rink.

“Maybe after an year he’ll have a little more luck, especially since his body isn’t yet completely rigid with age. But he did really well for a beginner. Even if he isn’t a beginner in figure skating, he’s barely learnt what he needs to survive in ballet, let alone dance successfully.” He continued, watching as Yuri finally succeeded in sending Babicheva crashing down onto the ice, and taking Georgi down with her, yelping for mercy and laughing too hard to properly defend herself.

“This, I said as well. Yura is good, very good. But he is impatient, and does not _listen.”_ The madam said, exasperated, making Yuuri and Yakov both snort in amusement.

They remained silent for a few minutes afterwards, watching the younger skaters bring themselves back under control, especially once Georgi exploded at them. It had the look of an older brother losing his cool around a pack of irritating younger siblings, and Yuuri found himself smiling a little helplessly, wondering if Victor had had to play the role of a big brother around the rest of them too. He and Georgi were roughly the same age, weren’t they?

“Yuri’s _Agape._ Why did Vitya select it for him and not you?” Baranovskaya asked suddenly, and Yuuri nearly toppled forward in shock. When he glanced around at her, she was watching him with a curious expression.

Yakov looked horribly flustered enough by the question that Yuuri was feeling second hand embarrassment just looking at him. It was a relief that he actually had a ready answer at hand, though. Since he’d asked Victor, after _Onsen on Ice._ Yuuri absolutely loved _Eros,_ he’d made the short programme his own in a way that he’d never quite succeeded with anything else before it, but even back when he’d barely begun to understand what he wanted to convey in the performance, he’d known without question that performing _Agape_ would have been as easy as breathing to him. His background in ballet ensured he had the grace to give it the delicacy it required, and innocent love for family and friends was what had guided Victor to his doorstep in the first place – there hadn’t even been an iota of romantic love in the performance of _Stay Close to Me_ that the triplets had uploaded online. But…

“Victor wanted to challenge us,” he admitted, still a little vexed at the thought. But helplessly fond at the same time. “He said that giving us something we could do in our sleep wouldn’t take us anywhere. So he gave us programmes that made us think, and struggle to feel.”

Yakov quickly lost his look of discomfort, trading it for another one of those arch looks he’d shot at Yuuri for most of the warm up period before the free skate portion of the Cup. Yuuri was starting to suspect it was his way of evaluating someone.

“It was a good decision,” Baranovskaya murmured, the corners of her lips twitching out into a sharp smile. “Have you learnt anything from it?”

Yuuri blinked, feeling for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. It didn’t help when Yakov covered his eyes, an absolutely obscene sound erupting from low in his throat.

“ _Lilia-!”_

“Don’t _Lilia_ me, Yakov, it is a perfectly valid question. You are acting like a _child_ -”

Yuuri hurriedly backed away from the squabbling couple, searching for a place to sit so he could get his ice skates on. The rink seemed like a safer place to be, even with Yurio and Babicheva out on the ice.

*

“She told me, you fat pig.”

Yuuri blinked, glancing over his shoulder in surprise. He’d just about gotten done checking out of the hotel – the last person he’d expected to see was Yurio, still dressed in that gaudy animal print tee and heavy black jacket of his.

“Yurio! What’re you doing down here, aren’t you supposed to be packing for your flight?” Yuuri asked, bemused. Yakov had mentioned that their contingent would be returning to St. Petersburg the next morning, with Yurio loudly complaining about how he would rather stay back in Moscow with his grandfather for a few more days.

…Yuuri didn’t think he’d seen Yurio this furious in a while, though. Worryingly enough, he actually looked hurt beneath all the anger.

Beginning to think it was a good idea that he’d decided to travel to the airport well in advance, he hurriedly thanked the receptionist, reaching down to grab his duffle bag and then turning back to Yurio. It was probably more telling of his mood that that he hadn’t even said anything else, just waiting for Yuuri to get done. It was unnerving enough that Yuuri didn’t hesitate to follow him out of the hotel without a word.

They’d already been walking a while in silence when Yuuri finally figured out where they were headed, and he immediately drew to a stop. Yurio turned on him with a snarl, but Yuuri weathered it without much more than a flinch.

“Yurio. _Yuri._ I have a flight to catch in roughly four hours – I can’t come skating with you even if I _want_ to. I need to be at the airport.” He said helplessly, not fighting it when Yurio reached out to fist his hands in Yuuri’s shirt beneath his open coat.

…Yuri was way too close for comfort, all flashing eyes and bared teeth. But there was genuine emotion in there. Desperation and anger both.

“She told me you would have been better!” he yelled, the words like a sledgehammer to the face, especially combined with how wet Yurio’s eyes had gotten. It made Yuuri drop his duffle bag to the side, reaching up to first close his hands around the small fists clutching at him, then tugging till he could pull Yurio in a tight hug. Even if he did fight it every inch of the way.

“She didn’t say that.” Yuuri ground out, his voice confident even when he didn’t know Lilia Baranovskaya all that well.

He didn’t need to know her personally, after all. No teacher, however stern, would cut their student down with words as harsh as that. And definitely not the madam, not when he voice had been filled with a nearly grandmotherly fondness for Yurio when she’d been speaking that morning. All stern, exasperated and loving at once, with that wry appreciation for a child that was too clever by far and growing too fast that he’d seen in Minako’s eyes when he’d been a lot younger. That he saw on Victor’s face whenever he caught sight of Yurio.

“She _did._ She didn’t. But she might as well have!” Yurio ground out vehemently, finally stopping in his struggles to get away, instead staying burrowed into the dark of the heavy coat Yuuri had dragged on to counter the chill. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever seen Yurio act his age quite this way before, not even when he’d forced himself to stand on the podium with a pained looked on his face, beside Yuuri and JJ while knowing he wouldn’t be going on ahead to the Grand Prix with them.

“I’d skate it for you so you understand what she meant. But I don’t have to, do I.” Yuuri said, soft, and was gratified when Yurio slowly shook his head.

Yuuri’s programme was the _Eros,_ after all. And Yurio’s was the _Agape._ Even if Yuuri could probably do _Agape_ better than any other programme, possibly better that _Eros_ even if he understood _that_ concept so much better now… it wouldn’t be right. Because it still wouldn’t be _Yurio’s Agape._

Lilia Baranovskaya had reminded Yurio that he still had more to learn. And that it didn’t need to be learnt overnight.

“You didn’t tell me you knew ballet.” Yurio grumbled suddenly.

“You never asked.” Yuuri shot back snidely, and earned himself a punch to the stomach. A whole lot softer than he knew Yuri could make it.

Yuuri found himself laughing just a bit, feeling a little teary eyed himself. And wishing Victor was around, if only so he could laugh at them both. Or possibly smother them both in hugs till everything was better again. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t, so Yuuri tightened his hold on Yurio until he’d hugged the boy enough for the both of them.

“I’ll call you a cab.” Yurio muttered, red-cheeked. Which was probably the only apology Yuuri was going to get from him.

It was so cute, though. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling widely, even giggling a bit when Yurio shoved him away with a scowl.

“Until next time, Yurio. Keep training, maybe come visit! Show me and Victor your best _Agape_ yet.” He said later, ducking into the cab before he could get punched in the face.

“Like hell I’d visit you freaks! I don’t need to show you anything, I’m not skating for you! And stop fucking calling me that!” he snarled, slamming his hands onto the roof of the cab and making the cab driver yell at him in Russian. Yurio, obviously, yelled back, and Yuuri had to intervene before they came to blows and made him even more delayed than he already was.

*

There was a buzzing sound coming from somewhere. Yuuri blinked blearily, the world a blur of pale greys, whites and shadows in the half light of dawn filtering in through the curtains.

Lips pressed against his throat, mumbling something hoarsely in a language he recognized perfectly, even if he couldn’t understand it.

“Yours,” Victor rasped, his voice still thick with sleep, the word barely recognisable this early in the morning when Victor was too out of it to even out his natural accent. Yuuri grunted, burrowing deeper into the pillows, sheets and the solid warmth of Victor curling into him from the front.

Another buzz, and Victor _groaned._

“ _Hai, hai-_ where the hell did it-”

“Other side, beside your glasses-”

“I can’t fucking _see_ my glasses-”

“Your _other_ other side, Yuuri- _”_

A soft whine had them both shutting up immediately, both crowding over the side of the bed in a rush to make sure Makkachin was still okay. The poodle was shooting them both a woebegone look from the far side of the bed, set up in his own nest of bedding. Yuuri didn’t actually need to have his glasses on to be able to sense it.

Victor somehow managed to spontaneously untangle himself from the sheets and roll off the bed and to Makkachin’s side in a move that looked disgustingly graceful and completely boneless, cooing “Makkachin, Makkachin, we’re sorry. Are you okay? Yuuri’s horrible, isn’t he, so mean~”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, turning around and patting over the bedside table until he managed to get his hands on his glasses, shoving them on and finally reaching for his phone, not really able to control the smile that tugged at his lips when he heard Makkachin whine again, somehow sounding happier than before.

The smile only got bigger when he saw the video file that had been attached to the mail he’d received.

“What, what?” Victor asked, abruptly crowding up against him. Yuuri laughed, tilting his head to the side so Victor could tuck _his_ head into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, peering down at the phone with him.

“Oh, nothing. Yurio sent something for us to see.” Yuuri replied, smiling brightly.

It made Victor hum curiously, reaching out for the phone so he could see for himself. Yuuri sighed, and shifted a bit so he could settle in to watch more comfortably.

Not that he really needed to. He already knew what it would be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> чёрт! - Damn! or Hell! (slang, invective)  
> ***  
> Hi, YOI fandom! This might be a bit weirder and more introspective than most would go for, especially since the introspection isn't specifically on Victor and Yuuri's relationship. But here's hoping someone out there gets some enjoyment out of this. Also, uh. I'm actually completely unsure about whether winning both a silver and bronze would be enough to net Yuri a spot in the Grand Prix, if any of you actually understand the point system and know better, feel free to point it out. I'll edit the fic accordingly.
> 
> If you read this and like it, **consider leaving kudos or comments!** I'd love to chat about all these lovely characters. This crazy ice skating anime has taken over my life and I don't even know what to do with myself anymore. Also, Yuri is such an aggressive little kitten. Or a ball of sunshine masquerading as a sulky kitten.


End file.
